There’s so much going on during term time that I don’t even remember many of the
funny or crazy things that happen in the day, and the first couple of days of half
term vary between having a day off, i.e. reading the papers, tackling the housework,
luxuriating in the feeling that I don’t have to get up so early, and days of
structured pottering about: racing between catching up on correspondence, checking
out websites that take seemingly hours to access on a dial-up connection, chatting
with friends. When a friend phones up out of the blue, I find myself nervously
checking my watch, remembering I had written “go to gym” on my timetable for the day.
I seem to ignore the fact that actually I’m tired, and am allowed to languish in bed
if I choose, or that I won’t get a detention if I scoff a whole tray of chocolates
instead of the timetabled gym visit.
And so mid-week sees my body steadfastly refusing to do what my mind is ordering it to, leading to a battle with myself come Wednesday, or thereabouts. A simple task that could so easily be finished in twenty minutes at any other time becomes a chore that blows itself out of all proportion: the pile of ironing suddenly grows a forked tail and sharp teeth that snap challengingly every time I scurry past, the iron remains out of reach on a shelf that suddenly seems too high up, and I feel like Alice in a wonderland that actually doesn’t hold much wonder.
Something that I do wonder is if I will ever be able to cope with non-structured time again. I seem to have become so institutionalised that my naughty lazy self is permanently rebelling whenever it gets the opportunity. In the week before half term, school was its usual hectic race of teaching, planning, preparing, marking, and at this time of year report writing.
I was with one group last Thursday, worrying that we hadn’t got onto the topic we should be on by now, but thinking I could squeeze it in next week before half term. Which is when reality came bowling towards me, looming larger and larger, until the smack against my face nearly sent me reeling: half term was no longer a mere mythical boundary where every scheme of work would finish its business, give itself a quick lick and then curl up contentedly purring. Half term was a few days away and there was no more squeezing in of anything before it arrived. Without my permission, time had taken on warp factor five and I hadn’t even had time to savour any sort of wind-down towards that holiday feeling.
It made me think of the retiring deputy head who told me not to wish my weeks
away as we stood doing break duty one blustering morning weeks before he retired.
Maybe he had been rushing through his teaching career, nose to the grindstone, not
taking time to savour the differences he had made because he was wrapped up in
meetings and all that important decision making stuff that the senior management
team seem to do. And then one day he might have lifted his head up and looked out
of the classroom window (or, more likely, his plush-ish office window), seen that
the blossom on the trees had finally given way to greenery and that his weeks left
serving the school could now be counted on one hand. Suddenly it had all gone, in
the blink of an eyelid; minuted on a battered document shoved into a filing cabinet
somewhere, and etched in the memories of former pupils who still refer to him by his
nickname as they reminisce over a couple of pints every now and again. It’s all
rather sad.
But it doesn’t help me to decide what I want to do about it before the same happens to me. Half term Wednesdays are enough to make me think I actually thrive on the stress of term time and feel a little lost without it. Getting up later in the day makes me regret wasting some of the morning, normally my most productive time. All those things I yearn to do during the holidays, like read books, seem too indulgent, and it all leaves me in a hinterland of trying to justify to myself that it’s okay to pass my time idly, with no measurable outcome and no new targets drawn up. How long does it take to become de-institutionalised?
Maybe it’s the school at fault. I’ve worked in more laid back places. There’s
a school I know that seems to have its days worked out to cause less stress to its
staff and its pupils, and it’s all down to timetabling. The school day is split
into hourly periods, with breaks in the morning and for lunch. It’s an early start,
but also an early finish. The morning consists of regular lessons, but the
afternoon’s single hourly period is for additional activities such as pastoral
time, extra literary and numeracy, assemblies, rehearsals, citizenship, and all
other kinds of things that the children won’t end up being examined in. As such,
the afternoons are a time that everyone looks forward to, and contrary to what a
lot of people tend to think, aren’t regarded by the kids as a time to mess around
in, but rather to savour. The teachers feel more relaxed, knowing that once lunch
is over there’s only an hour more to work. But because the school day ends so early,
many stay on for an hour or so to prepare for the following day or do their marking.
When they do arrive home, the evening is theirs to spend however they want.
Distinguishing between work and home life is so much easier when you haven’t
had to drag a box of books home with you.
Still, at least I know what to look for in a new post. I’d want a school that
started early and finished early, and did most of the teaching in the morning. The
thing is, I don’t think head teachers would be particularly impressed by enquiries
at interviews on what time you get to go home each day. What a shame they don’t
realise what a positive effect it could have on their staff and their students.
Maybe that will be my question at the end of the interview when they want to know
if you’ve got a witty and endearing question for them hidden up your ironed shirt
sleeve: “Yes, Head Teacher, I do have a question actually: how do you get over the
half term mid week slump? Oh, five days in Dubai normally does it for you, eh? Now,
what about your staff?”
added 5/6/05
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